


1 Sprinkle Of Sugar

by casstayinmyass



Category: Ghost (Sweden Band)
Genre: Baking, Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Food Sex, Halloween, Kitchen Sex, Oral Sex, Sexual Tension, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:01:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27157652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casstayinmyass/pseuds/casstayinmyass
Summary: Late the night before Papa’s big Halloween party, you and Copia have the same idea raiding the kitchen for the snacks to be served. All comes crumbling down (literally), and baking something new by morning is your only option.
Relationships: Cardinal Copia/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 30





	1 Sprinkle Of Sugar

**Author's Note:**

> Requested through that one site, Koala-Fig. Inquire about it on my tumblr, @kissthegoghuleh.

A buzz from the table next to you pulls you from the dream you’d been enjoying. Another buzz prompts you to open your eyes all the way, grabbing blindly for the device you know it’s coming from. You’re lucky you don’t have an assigned roommate, as they would most likely be yelling at you for having your phone off silent at...

_Midnight. Shit!_

You groan, opening your phone. Nearly blinded by the blue light, you squeeze your eyes shut for a couple of seconds to adjust, then open them again to check who’s trying to bother you now.

_Swiss:_

_Check this out._

_[PHOTO ATTACHED]_

You open the photo to see it’s the ghoul decked out in Halloween garb, from Spirit Halloween it looked like. You were supposed to visit the store with him today, but you couldn’t get the time away from the Abbey. From what you can see in the photo, Swiss had glowing pumpkin lights around his neck, a big top hat, a skull in his free hand, goth temporary tattoos all over his mask (those had better be easy to pick off, or Cardinal Copia would surely have a fit.)

Another buzz.

_Swiss:_

_Don’t go thinkin I forgot you, now._

_[PHOTO ATTACHED]_

You smile, waking up a little more as you lean up on your elbows. He had gotten you a big throw blanket with your favourite horror movie on it. You type out a quick text back in thanks, giving Swiss a pass for the strange sleep schedules ghouls had. To be fair, you were a night owl yourself, but the work day you had been put through was, however ironic the expression, hell. Your heart aches as you feel just a tad of self pity creep in. You had really wanted to make a day of Halloween shopping with your friend. Swiss had offered to speak to his boss for you, The Cardinal, who he assured you would excuse you from any work for the day. He was a lenient man, you’d heard. But Copia seemed a bit aloof to you, and you hadn’t wanted to cause a stir—Sister Imperator had requested you for these duties months ago.

Tomorrow was Papa Emeritus the Third’s annual Halloween party. Each year he tries to outdo himself—or, have the ghouls outdo his previous party for him. It makes you laugh to think how into the holiday the Third is, but then again, Halloween is a big deal in the Abbey for the aesthetic. The Cardinal even has his trusty plastic fangs he puts in for fun on the day itself (they usually fall out halfway through the day like false teeth, but what’s more horrifying than that?) So, you’d been working on the decor in the ballroom and halls. At least some of your fellow Siblings had been assigned to work the party prep like you had, so the day hadn’t been completely devoid of good company. The Third hadn’t bothered to come out once to thank you all for your hard work, however... though a few of the Siblings kept disappearing for 15 minute “breaks” down to Papa’s wing throughout the day, and when they returned they looked thoroughly thanked.

It had taken the full day to make the place look even darker and spookier than it already did, but you and the others were proud of your work once everything was up. The ghouls were hard at work in the kitchen perfecting the crown jewel of the celebration—the haunted gingerbread replica of the church and its grounds. It was beautiful, immaculately detailed you heard, made by the most talented of kitchen ghouls. It had been set in the large fridge at the end of the day, where it would chill until tomorrow evening.

Needless to say, you had been glad to come back to your room and sleep after all that, until Swiss had unwittingly awakened you five minutes ago. You look at the time again, and feel your stomach protest your return to sleep. _Fuck_. You do your best to ignore the hunger, but it won’t go away. _Why didn’t you keep snacks in your dorm?! All the other Siblings did!_

Sighing, you resign yourself to a sneaky trip to the kitchens. You had fallen sleep in your bra and panties out of pure exhaustion, so in case you were to run into anyone (Satan forbid, at this time of night) you shield yourself with a sheer black nightgown. It isn’t completely opaque and leaves very little to the imagination, but who around here hasn’t seen a pair of tits before? You do slip on your headdress however, as Sister Imperator’s voice echoes in your memory. _“It’s a sign of respect! The Papas don’t get to take off their paint when they leave their rooms, do they?!”_ You roll your eyes, adjusting it around your hair.

The corridor outside your room is dimly lit as always. You take the candle from the sconce outside your door, holding it by the base. Turning off the lamp beside your bed just in case you were caught and had to spend the night in Sister Imperator’s office, you shut the door and make your way toward the kitchen. Sounds of snoring, soft music and pleasure fill the hallway with a familiar ambience; the typical noises you’d come to find comfortable around here. You finally make it to the spiral staircase leading down one floor, and to the end of the first floor hall. Yawning, you go to flip on the light, but notice with a start that you’re not alone. There, illuminated only by the light of the fridge, is the Cardinal himself, crunching on something with his back to you. You debate carefully walking back out the way you came, but Copia suddenly stops. He straightens up, and turns around; your secret is blown, as his obviously is too.

“Sister!” Copia blurts out, a couple of crumbs falling from his lips down over his black satin pyjama set. His hair isn’t unkempt per say, but it’s a tad more unruly than you usually see it during the day, when he’s had it styled. His mustache is a little scruffy, and what he has left of his eye and lip paint after a shower is barely visible. You look down to see that he’s barefoot. He clears his throat under your scrutiny, dusting the crumbs off himself in an attempt to appear presentable. “Eh... you are a Sibling, no? Spiacente. I am blind as a bat in the dark.”

“I am,” you nod, trying not to giggle at that. “A Sibling, that is.” Conversation tapering off, you’re rooted to the spot. You have no idea how you’re going to talk your way out of this awkward situation. With awkward excuses, no doubt. Copia beats you to the punch.

“I was just...” He gestures bashfully behind him. You cast a glance past him, evading his attempt to conceal his shame.

“Is that Papa’s gingerbread?” you marvel, walking over. Copia swallows.

“No.”

“So you baked it yourself?” you question. He frowns.

“I am an exemplary cook. I believed all the Siblings knew this.”

“You’re into baking too?”

“Well... I... it is not what it looks like!” He spends a long time staring at you. "Yes, fine. It is exactly what it looks like. Papa will not miss one purple gumball however, eh?" Copia tries to laugh. You eye the gingerbread tombstone in his hands he had nicked from the edible cemetery.

"That's hardly a gumball." Copia looks down to inspect the grave he's snatched, and huffs as he reads his own name iced on it.

"Papa has a wonderful sense of humour." He snacks on the last of it, and looks back at you curiously. "What are you doing here, Sister?"

"I have the right to know why you are if I tell you why I am." He considers this.

"That is fair, but—" He frowns suddenly, stands up a little straighter. "Resisti, I am your Cardinal. I don't have to tell you shit.” Any other time, you would bow your head and curtsy with cheeks as red as your ass after a spanking, but tonight, seeing as you and the esteemed Cardinal are both standing in nightclothes secretively raiding the clergy's fridge, rules didn't apply.

“I assume you’re here for a midnight snack,” you mutter, “ _Cardinal_. Which is what I’m here for. We don’t have much to hide from each other now that I broke the ice. You’re welcome.” As he stammers, you go to rummage around in the fridge for a pudding cup or maybe leftovers from the meal tonight. As you’re digging, you hear a crunch. Incredulously, you look up to see a blushing Copia with one side of his cheeks stuffed.

“It was only the steeple!” he protests, covering his mouth. You hesitate, standing back up and regarding the work of gingerbread. He’s broken off one of the steeples, and most of the graves are missing. The stained glass that had probably taken days to create out of blown sugar are carefully dismantled and scattered a little around the grounds, where some green globs of icing have been strategically removed.

“Is it really that good?” you whisper. Copia looks surprised by your question.

“Eh...”

Without waiting for him to answer, you pluck a grave stone, and bite into it. You let out a moan. It _is_ that good. When you look back up, you see Copia looking away—anywhere but you, it seemed. You also noticed one of his hands had dropped, fist clenching in front of his—

“Cardinal?” you inquire. He exhales.

“Sister?”

“Is something the matter?” You turn to face him more. It’s in complete innocence—you’ve forgotten that you have a sheer nightgown on, exposing what’s underneath. Copia can’t keep his eyes occupied this time. They descend down your body, then snap back up to your eyes.

“No, nothing. Shouldn’t you be getting back to bed?”

“I’m still hungry,” you protest. You take a part of the patterned roof this time of the gothic gingerbread creation, and Copia lets out a soft laugh.

“Si. I am too hungry to sleep too.” His stomach grumbles to reiterate his point. “I don’t know what it is! I get into bed, I have had a good meal brought to me, or served to me if I attend the dining hall. I am full, and yet...” He sighs, plucking a candied jack o lantern from the steps and taking a fretful nibble. “...Still, I crave the sweets in the night.”

“Do you always crave something sweet at night?” you ask. It’s a harmless question, but the Cardinal seems to take it just how you meant it. The nervous man looks down. 

“Not if I have something next to me I can satiate this with,” he replies. His voice has dropped a couple of registers, and you chance a look down. Just as you had suspected, the outline of his cock is beginning to show through the black satin; you can see the shape of the head through the fabric. Your breath hitches as you feel a heady wave of arousal hit you. You had never really thought of the Cardinal this way until tonight. Until now, honestly. “If one got hungry in my bed Sister, I would fill them up.” You exhale the breath you’d been holding, and Copia makes a smooth move to stand in between your legs, steadying you between him and the counter. His hand comes to rest on the counter beside your thigh, almost touching you but still avoiding contact. Your mouths are inches apart, and you can smell the icing sugar dusting his lips. He brings a hand up to cup your cheek, and you feel his erect cock press into your thigh as you part your lips for him.

A loud smash wakes the two of you from your daze. Copia quickly spins around, and you launch yourself from against the counter. You and he both scramble for words, as Copia tries his hardest to look natural with a fully splayed out hand covering his cock.

“Is that a boner?”

“Would you... like it to be?" You raise an eyebrow, and he back peddles. “No no, it was, eh... I had a dream. Before I came here, yes.”

“A wet dream, huh?”

“It was a nice dream,” he retaliates defensively. “It was a... I was dreaming about eating this gingerbread here!” You raise an eyebrow.

“And that gave you a boner.”

“Eh... no. This is not a _boner_ , it is...” He blushes even pinker. “It is a predicament of the lower regions brought on by...”

“Gingerbread.”

“No, it...” At this point, Copia is a fly in his own web of lies. You decide to take mercy on him by rushing over to get the lights and distract yourself by what just cockblocked you two. There on the floor in front of the fridge is the gingerbread church meant to be served at tomorrow’s Halloween party.

“Ah shit,” Copia breathes. His cheeks are flushed pink as are his ears, and you’re sure you look just as compromised. Shaking it off, you start to problem solve.

“We could tell the ghouls Papa didn’t actually want it, and tell Papa they didn’t have the right ingredients.” Copia shakes his head.

“The kitchen ghouls never miss an ingredient on a list.”

“We could blame it on rats!” you suggest. He looks offended at the very idea.

“They are innocent creatures, they would never do such a thing.” Copia straightens. The way his hands are wringing together seems to be an accurate re-enactment of his stomach at the moment. “Vabbè. I will take the blame. I must set an example for the flock, and forbidden snacking is not a very good example.”

“Didn’t Eve eat the forbidden fruit?” you remind him. Copia hesitates, then points a finger at you.

“Do not use our religion against me. I am taking the fault for this. Si, that is final.” You’re barely listening to him at this point; instead, you’re busying yourself opening cupboards. He looks absolutely lost. “What are you doing?”

“Baking a new one.” He blinks.

“You what?”

“I’m baking a new one. And if you would be so kind, Cardinal.” You nod to a box of flour. Copia takes it, stares at it.

“You are baking a new gingerbread house by morning?”

“Gingerbread church. And you’re going to help me.” Copia squints at you for a moment, obviously contemplating if you’re in your right mind. Eventually deciding you seem to be sane enough, he shuffles over to you.

“How do you suppose we do this, hm? We are not bakers, unless you’ve been hiding a talent.” You whisk by him on your way to get the molasses.

“You bake. You told me.” Copia short circuits for a minute, before he rushes after you with a flurry of panicked laughter.

“Nonono, I said I cook.” You pause in your pursuit of sugar, and turn to look at him. “Cook! Sauce, meats, ensilada if that is to your tastes, but I do not bake! If dear Papa wants to serve some lovely _Pomodoro E Basilico_ I have got him more than covered, but under the circumstances, I think my skills will leave something to be desired. Besides, pasta is not frightening!”

“If you make it poorly enough, it will be.”

“Sister!” Copia groans. “Now is not the time for jokes!”

You snort. “You sound like The Second Emeritus during his papacy.”

“What did you say?” Your eyes widen a little. Maybe you’d gone too far this time. Maybe he had finally had enough of your insolence, and he was going to blame all this on you now. _You really need to learn how to keep your mouth shut._

“The Second,” you repeat softly. “I... compared you to him. Cardinal. Unholy one.” He just waves his hand.

“You may do away with the titles, you are in about as much trouble as I am. I am merely noting who you mentioned. The Second has been known to spend free time in the kitchens, baking small pies and pastries.”

“Glad he found a hobby in retirement.” You frown as you fail to see the relevance, then start to realize what the Cardinal is actually saying. Coming to the conclusion at the same time, Copia settles his hands around your shoulders.

“He has a book. I know this, because Papa has mentioned finding it here before. I am not certain where he keeps it, but it should be in his room.”

“What about checking the library first?” you ask. It is after all, the most logical place to look.

“The Third has taken them all out of the library to stack in his bedroom, in case any Sibling asked who baked this.” Copia gestures toward the shattered pieces on the floor with a scoff. “A humble and altogether honest man Papa is not.”

“Why don’t I just go seduce him for one, then?” you ask. Copia stares at you, seems almost put off by this idea.

“What will your excuse be when he asks you why you need a recipe book at the witching hour, eh?!” You suppose it was a silly idea, anyway. His brain works a mile a minute as eyes flit around, before settling back on you. “You will need to be the one to fetch the Second’s book, I’m afraid. If he wakes up and finds a Sister crawling around his room, it will not be out of the ordinary. If he sees me on my hands and knees in there?” Copia swallows. “Then the Third is not the Papa I need to worry about tomorrow.” You nod. He’s right. “I will cover for you if you are caught, know this,” he assures, but your stealth will be the only thing that makes or breaks this plan—not even a Cardinal can get you out of the deep shit you’d be in if you were found out.

You could be in and out in minutes. It’s most likely only 1am by now or so, so you two have most of the night to replace what you’d destroyed. Copia watches you go, leaning back against the counter. “Satana ci aiuti,” he mutters, kissing his grucifix.

You creep down the hall. Most of the usual noises have quieted down by now to your dismay; your foot falls having nothing to buffer them anymore. You’re grateful for the one Sibling at the end of the hall who has Opus playing louder than regulation at this time of night.

The Second’s wing of the Abbey is up two floors, which you climb as quickly as you can. You’re finally relieved to see that the candles in his corridor have been extinguished, and it seems as though no light is coming from his bedchambers. Despite the darkness, a ghostly green glow seems ubiquitous as you walk through, incense smoke curling around you as you weave through it. You feel a chill run through you; this ominous walk is like a re-enactment of Rosemary’s Baby. This wing isn’t nearly as inviting as the Third’s grand decor on the second floor, or the First’s even, with the patios that open up to the garden. If any part of the Abbey would be haunted this Halloween, you were sure this would be it.

A soft sigh from inside the bedroom gives you pause. You press yourself against the wall, and peer inside the cracked door. The Second Papa is lying in the middle of the bed, snoring. Beside him, a scantily clad Sister is stretched out, sleeping on his arm. On the other side of Papa, a naked Sister is curled into his side, also sleeping soundly. You feel your cheeks heat up. You feel as though you’re intruding on a private moment—which, you are—especially since the Second isn’t a very open man. He never showed this side of himself to anyone he didn’t specifically select. Still. By retrieving this book, you’re saving the entire congregation from having to deal with the Third’s tantrum tomorrow if he finds his haunted gingerbread church destroyed.

Grimacing, you slip inside the door of the bedroom. It smells of musk and more of the incense. The Second’s snoring reaches a crescendo and when it halts, you stop dead. Rustling noises fill the air, but after a few more seconds, it seems as though one of them was only adjusting positions. You exhale quietly, and look to his vast bookshelves. It’s impossible to see with only the moonlight to cast a glow... you cast a glance back to the bed, trying not to acknowledge how strange a situation this is.

There. It’s right there.

The book on baking tips and tricks was sitting right by the second girl’s face. You’d have to crawl. You ease yourself down on your hands and knees, praying none of your joints pop and alert the entire room of your uninvited presence. _Did the Second have some kind of spiked belt down here or something? You hope to Satan he didn’t. You’d heard rumours of his inclinations._ Finally making it over to the bedside table, you snatch the book, and crawl back with it under your arm. About to successfully duck and roll out of the room, your stomach drops as you feel two pairs of eyes on you. You turn back to see a third Sister, curled up at the end of the bed like some kind of pet. The bedazzled leash around her neck jangles as she perks her head up. You hold up your hand, and get a good look at her in the moonlight. The realization hits you. She’s one of the Siblings in the Third’s harem.

Her eyes widen as much as yours do when she realizes what’s going on. You lift a finger up to your lips, and she nods slowly, knowing you’re even in terms of secret-keeping. You sneak out of the bedroom, and finally take a deep breath once you’re back in the common corridor.

“Satanas,” you mutter, running a hand through your hair. Your habit gets in the way, and you tear the stupid thing off, opting to carry it instead. You’re hardly scared of breaking the dress code after carrying out an excommunicable offense against an ex-Papa.

Sweet spices fill your nose as you approach the kitchens. You can hear someone humming softly as well, and when you enter and set the recipe book down, you find Copia mixing something in a bowl. He looks up, smiling.

“Sister! I’ve found an extra batch of the gingerbread. The ghouls had it in the freezer. That leaves only the icing we have to make, si?” You laugh, half in relief and half in delirium.

“That, and the actual construction of the thing.” His smile falters a little. 

“Ah, yes. That.” He holds up a finger, and takes a scoop of the gingerbread, offering it forward on a spoon. “Here. Try, eh? It is very good, it will make you feel better.” He unironically makes an Italian “mamma mia” type gesture, and you fight not to laugh as you accept the spoonful.

“Mmm. It _is_ good.” Copia’s ears go a little red.

“I added a few spices myself. It was so bland before. The ghouls, they do not know how to give things a personal touch. Home cooked with care, you see this? It left much to be desired! So I...” He waves a humble hand. “Took some liberties. Spiced things up. It is all I know how to do in this case, heh.” His little laugh brings a smile to your face. He looks especially proud of himself for seasoning the gingerbread to perfection, so you make a point to lick every morsel off the spoon.

“You’re a culinary genius, Cardinal.”

“It was only a guess what would work. Like I said, I don’t—” He coughs into his fist, smile faltering. “Ah, listen to me. I digress. We do still have a lot to get done.”

“Don’t worry,” you assure. “We’ve got time.” You don’t know why seeing his spirits fall like that had affected you so deeply—maybe it was the exuberant look that had lit his face up moments prior.

As Copia spreads the gingerbread mixture out into three large pans, you collect the ingredients needed for making the royal icing. 1 pound of powdered sugar, 2 large egg whites, 1 tsp of vanilla extract. You mix it up in a bowl, and when Copia is finished baking the gingerbread, you lay out what you’ve got on the metal island in the middle of the kitchen. Each brush of skin on skin, bump of hip to arm makes your heart beat a little faster. They say sticky situations bring people together, and the way the Cardinal is growing on you proves this.

You dip his finger into the bowl, sucking the icing off of it. Copia watches you, huffing softly. “What are you doing?” You notice how focused he is on your lips, and the tiny bit of icing remaining on them.

“I’m testing.”

The Cardinal sighs. “Use a spoon perhaps, hm?”

“Big talk, coming from you,” you tease, reaching over to take his hand. Copia goes to protest, but finds himself at the mercy of your wicked smirk. “You, who I found defiling the gingerbread like a hungry little rat.” He shudders at the name, but tries to hide the reaction.

“My stomach, it was grumbling in bed. I had finished my cheese stash, and... it just looked so good.” He swallows, unable to rip his eyes away from your messy lips. “The icing looks good too... perhaps I will give it a try. Without dipping my finger in like an animal!”

“What’s wrong with acting like an animal?” you murmur. You bring his hand closer to you, prompting the nervous man to take a step forward toward your body. “Sometimes you just have to let yourself go like that. You know... give in to your basic instinct?” You drag your tongue along your lip, collecting the white icing. Copia lets out a hushed whine.

“Sister.”

“—I don’t know about you, but I’d like another taste of this. See if I got it just right.” You quirk an eyebrow. “We don’t really need a spoon, do we Cardinal?” You use his index finger to take a large glob of the sticky sweet mixture, and take it into your mouth. You tighten your lips around his finger as you suck it down, licking around it until it’s clean. A single moan from you as you pop off of it sends Copia huffing out a breath. 

“Please. I will become compromised if we continue, Sister.”

“More compromised than you already are?” you smile. His crotch bumps forward involuntarily, his voice coming out more as a plea than a stern reminder.

“We don’t have time.” You shrug, and turn back to mixing the icing.

“You’re right.” Copia gawks for a second. You slide your robe off, draping it over the clean area of the counter. “Back to work, then. I hope you don’t mind, but with the oven on in here, I’m steamy.” You still feel his eyes on you as you turn away. Copia’s gaze travels down your body, your form clad only in your lace panties and bra. The sight of so much of your skin is sending him into a frenzy, and he realizes he has to keep himself busy. Hurrying over to the pans that had come fresh out of the oven, he doesn’t pay attention to what he’s grabbing. A yelp from his side of the kitchen startles you out of the dreamlike motion of stirring, and you realize the Cardinal’s burned his hand. Having never worked in the kitchens during your years as a Sister of Sin, you have no idea where any first aid kits would be... instead, you scoop another dollop of cool icing out with your hand, rushing over to stick Copia’s finger in it. Once the burn eases off, he gives you a funny look.

“Icing?”

He blinks down at it, and you suddenly get the most ludicrous idea. A bad idea. Pretty awful, really. It’s a temptation you can’t resist. With your free hand, you take some of the icing and plop it on his nose. Copia looks surprised, taken off guard by the icing smeared on his face. Some drips down into his mustache, and he looks adorably perturbed for a second. Then his eyes flicker up to yours, narrowed.

“Sister, I don’t think you know what you are getting yourself into.”

“I think I do,” you whisper, leaning up to bite the icing blob off of his nose. Copia takes the remainder and flicks it at you, all smiles until he realizes where it landed. You look down at the sensation. Right above your cleavage. Undeterred and frankly spurred on by the misfire, you scoop it out, smearing it over your chest. “Icing cammo,” you joke. He eyes the bowl, but grabs for the powdered sugar instead. It explodes over the two of you, and you reach up for something to retaliate with. Grabbing the bowl of icing, you smear some on his satin pjamas, and Copia makes a noise of distress.

“Do you know how expensive these were?!”

“Take them off, and they won’t get dirty.” Wasting no time in following that suggestion, he takes his top off. You’re more than happy to help with the bottoms. Copia bites his lip as he watches you work. Just as you suspected, an erection awaits, bare and leaking under his sleep clothes. You wrap a hand around him at the base of his cock, the icing on your hands getting sugary residue on his skin and in his hair. He sucks air in through his teeth as you duck your head down and kitten lick the tip. You don’t offer him much satisfaction, however.

Ignoring his dick completely, you move up to lick the trail of icing from his happy trail. Your tongue slides up his stomach as his pudge jiggles slightly from his clenching muscles—you feel his cock twitch against your tits. Hovering over the Cardinal’s body, you plant soft kisses to his nipples, and he lets out his first real groan, loud and bound to give away your little secret. Lucky for you two, nobody’s around at this time of night, and all you care about right now are Copia’s pleading eyes. You take one nipple between your teeth and roll it around against your tongue. In a quick reaction, his hands fly up to bury in your hair. He lets out a small “ _Unngh_ ,” watching you under fluttering eyelids. You almost take mercy on him by going back down—but he tugs you up first.

Straddling the Cardinal, you’re tugged down to meet his lips, a mixture of spicy gingerbread and sickeningly sweet icing licking into your mouth on Copia’s tongue. He moans again through the kiss, and you brace yourself on either side of him as his lips finally let you go, trailing down in a smear toward your neck. You wiggle out of his way in another game of evasion, returning to his cock. He’s only disappointed for a moment, which is how long you give him to get his bearings back before sucking him down. You pop off a few moments later, nibbling some crumbs off his stomach. Copia jolts again, and his cock falls to rest against your cheek. Holding it up steady, you twist your hand at the base with your spit, and slide him into your warm mouth again.

“Ai, please,” Copia pants. “It is so good. I—fuck, Sister, don’t stop, per favore—you pleasure your Cardinal so w— ah!” You let him babble, grinding yourself down on the hand you’re not using on him. You feel his cock kick in your mouth, and Copia’s hips arch up off the ground. He scrambles, pulling you off as gently as he can. “Dolce m-mia... come up here, eh? Let your Cardinal feel you.” He watches you intently as you crawl up to sit over his soft stomach, wonder in his eyes. “Such a gift you are giving me. I like to give back, you know.”

He slides his hands under your thighs, and runs two fingers along the damp crotch of your panties. Sliding past the fabric and barely breaching you, he removes his fingers to sniff. His cock twitches again against your ass. “This time, I think I will use my fingers.” With a playful smirk, he inserts the two fingers again, slipping between your lips and curving deep inside your pussy. You steady yourself with two hands on his chest, and Copia lets out a desperate sigh, cock bobbing with each stroke of his fingers inside your velvet heat. Short, punched out grunts spill from his lips, and he pulls you urgently toward his face. Getting the idea, you move over top of his mouth, lowering yourself down again.

His messy fingers dig deeper into your thighs as his tongue licks a long stripe to collect the slick from your weeping pussy, fuzz of his mustache tickling your most sensitive area. You cry out, grinding down in reaction. Copia seems to get off on this—he pulls you down rougher against his face, diving between your folds to feast on every last drop.

“Copia—” you gasp, unable to get a full breath in. The pleasure is rising from your stomach to your chest to your head, and you’re starting to feel the warmth creep up. His nose bumps incessantly against your clit, but each touch isn’t enough. Finally in frustration, you thrust your hips down, and Copia moves up to suck hard on your clit, beginning the waves of your orgasm. You find yourself falling backward onto his stomach as he pleasures you through your peak, until there’s nothing left but aftershocks. Copia gasps for air, poking his head out from between your thighs. With sheepish little rat noises, he looks down to his own arousal past you.

“Eh, Sister... would you...?” He grimaces as he throbs, his neglected cock painfully hard now. You get off of him, licking a stripe up the underside. That alone makes him convulse. “Ahm—I’m—oh si, I am going to cum!” he whines, thick spurts of white drooling down his length. You close your lips over the throbbing head just in time to catch a few bursts of his cum on the back of your tongue, and you swallow it down greedily. When you pop off, Copia looks as though he’s just been through the ringer... in a good way. What you’d just done catches up with you. You’d just fucked Cardinal Copia on the floor of the kitchens. In the middle of the night, on a schedule, with less than three hours until sunrise when the morning ghouls’ shifts started.

“As much as I’d love to fall asleep after that,” you breathe, chest heaving, “We’ve still got a church to build.” Copia stands up on wobbling legs, and uses a napkin to clean the sticky icing and cum off of you and himself. Once you’re both fit to get back to work, you stand. "Ever seen Bake-Off?"

After three hours of gingerbread snapping, piping with whatever icing you had left, and candy positioning, you have something of a haunted church. Copia had a passion for gothic architecture, which was lucky. At least the structure itself looked somewhat realistic. You watch in dismay as a gumdrop pumpkin slides off the roof, and lands in the middle of the crypts.

“It is fine,” Copia assures. “It looks great!” One side of the roof caves in. “It looks... passable!”

“As what? A haunted outhouse?” Copia coughs into his fist, disguising his laugh.

“All it needs is a little fixer upper, eh?! Here, you watch your Cardinal—” Just as Copia goes to try and salvage the sad attempt at a spooky monastery, footsteps ring out down the hall.

“Someone’s coming,” you whisper.

“Just smile and nod,” Copia hisses. “This is what I have learned from talking to dear old Papa when I am in deep shit.”

“How’s that worked for you?”

“Listen, I will do the talking.”

“I don’t think that’s a very—”

“Trust me, si? I am a very well-spoken man.” Papa Emeritus the Third enters the kitchens, dressed in a purple bathrobe covered in bats. His hair is a fluffed up mess, and he has a litany of red lipstick stains up his neck. Despite looking like he just rolled out of bed, he’s already applied his skull paint—or simply forgotten to take it off last night. He blinks as he adjusts to the light, and his eyebrows furrow in record time as he takes in the sight before him.

“Merda! What is this?!” he demands. You look to the well-spoken man beside you, whose idea of “doing the talking” is a frightened squeak. Rolling your eyes, you step forward, bowing your head.

“Forgive us, Papa. We... had a little mishap.”

“A little mishap?!” he snaps, striding in close to grip your chin and stare you down with furious eyes. “Do you realize what you have done, you silly little thing?! My parties are to be perfect, and now look.” His storming eyes dart up over your shoulder. “And _you_ , Cardinale. I should have known you would be around to make a mess of things. I will have Imperator on your ass for this, you—” He suddenly pauses. He takes a deep breath, and leans down to your neck to do so again. After a moment, he perks up, an expression of intrigue on his face. He looks from your tousled hair to the ruffle in your robes. The smear of icing around Copia’s crotch, and his swollen lips. Papa lets you go, a smile playing at his lips.

“Ah. I see now what has happened.”

“You do?” Copia replies, swallowing. You’re stunned by the switch in disposition. Papa chuckles deeply.

“Ah, of course. And I approve.” He holds a finger up. “Although I am still very angry.” The Third sighs dramatically, swiping a candied cross from the gingerbread display. “Angry you did not invite your Papa for the pre-Halloween fun.”


End file.
